


Good Boys Talk Dirty

by Motherof4dragons



Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: AU, Childhood Friends, Covid made me do it, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Smut, Jackson and Lucy are siblings, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Seriously Alternate Universe, Tim is about ten years younger, brothers best friend, i make no apologies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motherof4dragons/pseuds/Motherof4dragons
Summary: LucyThey say every girl loves a bad boy, and there's undoubtedly a reason for that. Bad boys rock your world, but then they break your heart. So, I made a solemn vow to put my bad boy dating ways behind me. Now I have a naughty itch that I just can't scratch. Enter Tim, my brother's best friend since we were kids. Tim is the embodiment of a good guy. I bet he even helps old ladies carry their groceries. When I least expect it, though, he shows me a side of him I never imagined. Is it possible the best of both worlds has been beside me the whole time?TimThe number one rule of the guy code is you don't date your best friend's sister. Google it; you'll see I'm right. Even if she is gorgeous and smart and has a unique brand of crazy that just flat out does it for you. Bros before—well, you know. But after a night of drinking and listening to Lucy complain about her bland love life, I see an opportunity too golden to pass up. After all, good guys can talk dirty too.
Relationships: Tim Bradford & Lucy Chen, Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	Good Boys Talk Dirty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheRookBook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRookBook/gifts).



> This is about as AU as it comes! I was deeply inspired by following Eric Winter on Instagram. His hair cuts and stubble/beard through the covid break was just too yummy to pass up.
> 
> Also, consider this your final warning. There be smut ahead. Read at your own risk.

  
**Chapter One**  
 **Lucy**

I climb the stairs to my apartment, hoping the physical exertion will cool my simmering frustrations. It doesn't. I'm wound so tight, I'm liable to pop at the smallest provocation.

Speaking of provocations—I put my hand on the doorknob but freeze before I twist the handle.

When you live with your brother, and he's expecting you to spend the evening at your boyfriend's house, certain precautions must be taken when entering the shared dwelling.

Dropping my keys into my purse, I use my other hand to cover my eyes. Pushing the door just wide enough to stick half my body inside, I yell with enough force to reach the entire apartment.

"Jackson, I'm coming in. Please cover any cocks you don't want seen."

I hear an amused sound from a few feet away, and my brother's voice dryly answers back.

"Nobody's naked sis. It's safe to come in."

Still, I uncover my eyes in layers and slowly enter the room. I wouldn't put it past him to moon me just because.

When I enter the apartment, there are three fully clothed men sitting on the couch. Well, two on the sofa and one on the chair.

My baby brother, Jackson, is lounging across the cushions, his feet in his boyfriend's lap. His boyfriend, Sterling, has an Xbox controller in his hands, thrumming his fingers over the buttons with ninja speed. Tim, my brother's best friend since childhood, is sitting in my chair, trying his best to pummel Sterling into dust. Digitally speaking.

When I shut the door behind me, it smacks with a little more force than I was expecting.

"That bad, huh?" Jackson asks, raising his questioning gaze to meet my face. He lifts his arms as I walk by, and I stop on my march to my bedroom to bend over the back of the couch and give him a much-needed hug.

"I'll be out in five, and then I'm drinking."

What a waste of an evening. What a waste of a life. What's the point of playing it safe if you die of boredom?

I toss my shoes in the corner, having carried them in from the car. I peel my dress off and drop it on the floor. It's my favorite too. Demure enough to pass a high school dress code, but it clings to me in ways that make me look like a porn star. Or so I've been told. Stripping out of my sexiest and most uncomfortable set of lingerie, I shove them back into the black abyss of my drawer.

Wearing plain old men's boxer briefs and an ugly boy’s sweater, I sulk back into the shared space, heading towards the cabinet that holds the booze.

Our apartment isn't huge. It works for us though. An open floor plan, it has a kitchen, dining space, and living area then shoots off to two bedrooms. We share a bathroom, but it's in between our rooms, so at least we don't have to hear what's going on in the other person's territories at night. Much. Not that there's been anything going on in mine for the last six months anyway.

"Move," I snap at Tim, wanting to sit in my seat. He obediently gets up out of the chair, but then sits in between my legs on the floor, leaning up against the seat and pulling my knees over his shoulders. Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I tuck my feet up underneath me and pull the side table with the whiskey and shot glasses next to the armrest.

"Who's drinking?" I ask, already pouring out four shots. When Sterling and Jackson try to beg off, I shoot them a look like lasers out of my eyeballs.

"Us," yips Sterling, raising his hand like we're back in school. "We are definitely having a drink." It's good to know that if I no longer scare my brother, at least my probable brother-in-law is appropriately afraid of me.

Waiting until after their round finishes, I pass the shot glasses and raise mine to make a toast. Reluctantly, the boys follow suit.

"Men suck, and one day women will rule the world!"

I tip the first shot back, shuddering as it burns down my throat. Tim loudly sings, "Who runs the world—girls," before raising his glass and tossing it back, handing me the empty container. Nerd.

Jackson, the perv that he is, mumbles what sounds suspiciously like "yeah, we do" before he and Sterling bump glasses and shoot theirs back as well.

At some unspoken communication between the lovers, they push off from the couch, taking their empty tumblers into the kitchen and putting Sterling’s controller onto the charging station.

"Okay, sis, we're out of here."

"Yeah," says Sterling, "if we want to make the last showing, we gotta go now."

"You coming, Tim?" My brother asks, grabbing his wallet and keys from their spot on the island.

Tim doesn't even bother to look in his direction. While I fill our glasses again, he's changing his game from duel to one person.

"Nope," he says, "My momma taught me you don't let a lady drink alone."

I can hear Jackson roll his eyes.

"In other words, you're going to drink all of my whiskey and pass out on my couch."

I pass Tim another shot, and he knocks it back and hands me the glass before responding to my brother.

"Pretty much, dude."

Jackson wrinkles his nose like he's smelled something foul. Snob.

"Okay, you kids, don't do anything we wouldn't do. Remember, it's still a work night."

My irritation with the male species combined with the warmth of the whiskey makes me respond in a way I wouldn't have in any other situation.

"Which leaves sex with me. Literally, the only thing you three wouldn't do is have sex with me. Am I the only person in America not getting laid this weekend?"

The room freezes around me, and I realize I screamed that loud enough for the neighbors down the block to hear me. This night just keeps getting better and better. Sexual frustration at its most beautiful, people.

Sterling steps towards me on his way out the door, head tilted to the side.

"You know, Lucy, you do remind me an awful lot of your brother. Maybe if I was drunk enough—."

Whatever sick twist on pity fucking Sterling was about to offer is abruptly cut off as he's hauled bodily from the apartment, and the door slams shut behind him. Tim and I share a glance before turning our attention back to the doorframe. We can hear the scuffle on the other side, interspersed with laughter and large amounts of profanity.

We sit in silence for several moments after the commotion dies down, and I think about how pathetic my life has become. My brother-in-law kind of sorta offers to fuck me, and for half a heartbeat, I consider if it'll be the kind of kink I'm looking for.

"I thought we were drinking," comes from the boy sitting between my knees, and finally, it pulls me from my perverse contemplations.

"That we are, man," I say as I pour us both another shot.

"So," Tim starts, and I sigh inwardly. We've known each other our entire lives, but we don't exactly spend time alone regularly.

He's moved from my feet and has taken up residence on the couch.

"Are you going to tell me what's got your panties in a twist tonight?"

I scoff and toss back another shot.

"Nothing. That's the problem."

He raises his eyebrows at that, and I roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders, trying to force his gaze off me.

"Tyler and I broke up."

“What’d he do?”

"He dumped me."

"He—What? What the fuck is wrong with him?"

At Tim's bewildered expression, I throw my hands up in exasperation.

"Yes! Thank You! That's what I said. However—," I stop.

This is no conversation to have with my baby brother's best friend. Tim is, like, as pure as they come. He probably still cries when Bambi's mom dies. Hell, he probably still watches Bambi. He's Catholic for God's sake. I can't talk to him about this.

"Don't worry about it. It's not something you'd understand. As a matter of fact, you'd probably take his side, and I've grown rather used to having you around. I'd hate to have to kill you."

I go to pour myself another shot, and while Tim doesn't stop me, he does take the bottle out of my hand afterward and moves it beside him.

"I'm a line editor at a woman's magazine, Lucy. Do you know what that means?"

I so rarely see Tim doing anything other than watching movies and talking comic books that I sometimes forget he's grown up.

"It means that you're some kind of super freak who enjoys grammar and shit."

A reluctant smile spreads across his face.

"Well, yes. That too. But no. It means I get paid to read advice geared towards women. It means, in an office of over one hundred people, I'm one of only seven men. I spend my entire day listening to goddesses talk about what they like and what pisses them off. What turns them on and why men are pigs. I'm basically a walking encyclopedia of ‘how to please your woman.’”

His voice drops at the end, and I have to remind myself it's not attractive to leave my jaw on my chest like that.

A cute little flush starts to spread over his jawline, and he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, but his face is as sincere as I've ever seen it.

I stop and look at Tim. Really take him in. He's wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle t-shirt, a backward marvel hat, and his signature square-framed glasses. He looks like a grown man dressed as a frat boy.

I try to look deeper than that. College was good for him. His shoulders are broad, his arms thick. For all that it's a children's shirt, it's straining across the pecs on his chest. He looks like he only shaves every few days, and a layer of stubble coats his chin and cheeks. His jeans are always snug on his waist, and it would be a lie if I didn't admit to checking out his ass once or twice. In a purely clinical way. Still, though, I don't think I can look at him without picturing us as kids— when I was four inches taller instead of seven shorter.

"Fine. But you asked for it. Don't blame me when I fuck up your delicate sensibilities."

His responding chuckle is deep in his chest.

"You do remember that Jackson is my best friend, right? Extrovert wants to retire to a nudist colony, flamboyantly gay Jackson. I think I'll be fine."

His eye contact never wavers, and a chill breaks out over my body. What in the hell is wrong with me?

"Yeah. So, I have a thing for bad boys. But not really? I don't like the bad boy mentality, but I—.”

Fuck, this is so embarrassing. I close my eyes and tilt my head towards the ceiling. My cheeks are on fire.

"I don't like the way certain guys treat you. Like you don't matter. They break hearts and don't care about the damage they leave in their wake. That being said, I like things in the, mmmm, bedroom, that only a bad boy can give. I tried to talk to Tyler about those—," oh God, what the hell is wrong with me? I clear my throat, "—desires, and he looked at me like I was damaged somehow, then dumped me."

"Desires," he intones, and I can tell he's trying to be subjective, despite the thickening of his voice.

"You know what? I knew this was a bad idea." I try to get up from the chair, but Tim grabs me by the hand and yanks me back down next to him on the couch.

"Don't storm off. I get it. You want a Beta in the streets, and an Alpha in the sheets."

"Exactly," I say, then pause and take in his words.

"What? No. Uhm, what are you talking about?" I'm utterly bewildered by whatever language he just spoke in, and I'm not sure I can blame it on the whiskey.

"Oh. No, ignore that. I spend too much time reading women's magazines. I just meant you need a good guy who fucks like a bad boy. It doesn't seem that difficult to me."

For some reason, that spikes my irritation again.

"Please, what would you know about it?"

He licks his lips, and I follow the movement with my eyes.

"More than you think I do—hair pulling, domination, maybe a little shame play. Sex rougher than a lot of women could take. Not to sound all Fem Lib, but you're a strong, vibrant, independent woman. You have a high-powered career and make decisions from the time you wake up until you go to sleep at night. It makes sense that when you crawl into bed, you want to relinquish some of that control. After all, if you don't stand up afterward, unsure if your legs will hold you, then you simply aren't doing it right."

White hot need clenches in my gut, and my hormones crash over me in a wave. He's so calm about it, but still never breaks eye contact. It's sexy as fuck, and not something I was expecting from him.

I take in a deep breath, then another, before I reply.

"Yeah." I don't sound too needy, right? I'm breathy because I'm drunk. Maybe. "That sounds about right. But apparently, it's degrading and disrespectful to women, and people that like that sort of thing are suffering from psychological damage."

"Nah. Trust me when I tell you, you are just fine. You've just got to find the right guy. Don't give up the search. And don't go to some dive bar looking for a quick fuck. You're better than that."

His phone chirps the Mario Brothers’ tone, and I recognize it as his bed alarm. That's the type of nerd this kid is; he has an alarm to remind him to go to sleep. And I just bared my tormented and disgusting soul to him. I'm going to hell.

He rises from the seat and stretches. An inch or two of abs show, and I admire the taut muscles and sprinkling of hair. Fuck, I need to get laid. This was such a bad idea.

"I better go. I'm taking the whiskey with me. Tell Jackson I'll bring it back this weekend. I don't want you pity drinking alone."

I flip him the bird, and he chuckles in my face. He bends down, his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, and kisses me on the forehead.

"It'll be okay, baby girl. Give it time."

"Yeah. Thanks, Tim. For everything."

He walks to the door, slips his shoes back on his feet, and leaves me to stew in my misery.

Did he just call me baby?

  
**Chapter Two**  
 **Tim**

I pick up my phone for the hundredth time in a twenty-minute time span. It’s late, already 8:00 p.m. on a Friday. I’m the last one left in the office, my boss having said good night almost half an hour ago. We go to print Monday, however, and I always have last-minute issues to clean up before we do. It’s the life of the copy editor. There’s always something new to go over.

I wear contacts for work, but my eyes are all red and scratchy today. Big Surprise. I debate about pulling my glasses out of my bag and making the switch. Nerd chic, as the ladies at work call it, but I decide to wait until I get home. I’m almost done here.

I lean back in my chair, thinking about my conversation with Lucy last night. I barely slept a wink—the pictures she painted were running over and over in my mind.

I pick my phone up again, letting my thumb hover over her name in my contacts list. Lucy Elinor Chen. I’ve known Lucy and Jackson my entire life. Longer, it feels like. I don’t remember my world without them. Her brother and I met in second grade. Lucy was already in fourth. I fell in love with her somewhere around the age of ten.

I think about the bro code, and everything Jackson and I have been through together. He was the person I called when I got my first blow job. I was the first person he came out to. We went to high school together, college. In all that time, I’ve managed to avoid telling him I’m in love with his sister. Because that’s about as far from the bro code as you can get.

My thumb hits her name, and I raise the phone to my ear. I can barely hear the sound of the ringer over the beating of my heart.

“What’s up, Tim?” she answers the call, and I feel a weight settle in my chest. I shouldn’t do this. Just the thought of what I want to do to her crosses so many lines I can’t even see them in the rearview mirror.

“Tiiimmmmyyyyy, did you butt dial me, buddy?”

Buddy. She called me buddy when we were kids, but I haven’t heard it for a while.

“I’m hanging up now,” she says, and determination floods into me.

“Stop.”

I don’t even recognize my own voice.

“Tim? You okay?”

I push all thoughts of her brother out of my mind and concentrate on the way she says my name. Let it settle into my bones.

“Have you left yet?”

She hesitates, and I can tell I’ve caught her off guard.

“How do you know I was planning on going anywhere?”

“I think we established last night I’ve known you for a pretty long time. I have your MO down by now.”

She scoffs lightly, and I hear movement on her side of the phone.

“No, I haven’t left yet, but I’m getting ready to. What do you want?”

“Are you going hunting?”

She sucks in an intake of breath before she repeats “hunting,” pretending she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve affected her though, if only marginally, and it helps to calm me.

“Do you need your fix, baby girl? Looking to get laid? Rough, fast, and naughty. Isn’t that what we talked about last night.”

“What do you want, Tim.” I can’t read her tone through the phone, but I’ve gone too far to stop now.

“You,” I say simply. “Give me five minutes, I have to finish up at work. Answer when I call.”

This time her sigh is clear. She thinks I’m being ridiculous. Just Jackson’s best friend, still the same little boy in her eyes.

I’m all man now.

“I’m going to show you good boys can talk dirty too. Four minutes, thirty-five seconds,” I say before I end the call. I set the timer on my phone for four minutes before getting up from my desk and storming out of my office. I power walk through the cubicles closest to me, making sure I am, in fact, all alone.

When I’m as certain as I can be without a whole sweep of the floor, which would take me twenty minutes, I head back into my office, shutting the door and wedging a chair under the handle just in case. I close the curtains to the two windows in the room and make it back to my desk just as the alarm starts to beep.

I have a few seconds left.

I prop the screen up against my monitors and hit the video chat button for Lucy.

Relief surges in me when she answers, but I make sure to keep my face calm and my motions smooth.

She’s in her bedroom, probably sitting at her mirror. I can see her bed behind her on the screen. She’s dressed to go out. A rich red shirt with thin straps over her shoulders and a neckline that dips into her cleavage. Her hair is loose down her back, and her make up is harsher than she usually wears it—the eyeliner giving her a smokey hue. Her lips are red and delectable.

She watches me in silence as I untie my tie and slip it from my neck. I pop the top button of my shirt, followed by the second and third. The release of my confines feels spectacular, and I rotate my neck this way and that, enjoying the new range of motion I have.

When I reach for my first cufflink, she finally speaks.

“What are we doing Tim? I’ve never really seen you in dress clothes before,” and she sounds curious. Appreciative. Intrigued, but still prepared to be disappointed.

“Did anybody tell you that you could talk?”

She sucks her top lip between her teeth, making that little hissing noise that she does, and I know I’ve got her. That’s her concentration face. When she’s got a problem that she just can’t figure out.

“No,” she finally replies, and it's a shot to my cock with how breathy it sounds.

My second cufflink is free, and I stand, letting my torso take up the screen. I reach for my belt, exaggerating my motions as I loosen the buckle and let it fall open. I pull my shirt from my pants, then finish undoing the rest of the buttons, making sure my chest and abs are on full display. I pop the button on my pants, then slowly sit back in my chair, legs spread and arms open.

“Get your favorite toy. I know you have one. Two, if you want.”

She hesitates for a heartbeat, but then places the phone on her table and stands, walking out of view. I wish I could see where she kept them. Are they by her bed? Are the hidden away or right within arm’s reach?

Soon. I’ll find out soon.

When she comes back, she has a bag in her hands, the kind you find in the makeup aisle at Walmart. She places it on the table and begins to rummage through.

She pulls a hot pink dildo from the bag. From what I can see, it’s basic, nothing too special about it. Rubber and silicone, not anything that needs a plug or batteries. Next, she pulls out a cream-colored case, lifting the lid to show a U-shaped vibrator. It looks like it even has a remote. Nifty.

“These are my favorite. I use them together.”

I can’t help it. I reach and rub my cock through my pants, massaging away some of the ache already building inside.

“Strip. I want you naked.”

This time there’s no hesitation. She stands and reaches for the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head and letting it drop to the floor. Reaching behind her, she unclasps her bra, and I hiss in a breath as it slips down her arms. I’ve fantasized about what her breasts would look like for almost two decades. My imagination didn’t do them justice. I’m sure they’ll be even better when I get to lick them up close.

She skips the dramatics of my own partial undressing, shoving her jeans and panties down in one swift shove. It’s a shame, really. I would have enjoyed a striptease. I make a mental note to tell her to go slower next time.

Her pussy is neat and trim, just enough hair to prove she’s all grown. She stands in front of the camera, letting me admire the view.

When it’s either touch myself or make a mess in my pants, I lower my zipper and push my slacks and boxer briefs down just enough to free my cock.

“Tell me about your toys.”

My dick is leaking, and I take myself in hand, stroking low and freeing my balls before twisting back up again.

She holds up the purple “u” so that I have a clear view of it in the camera.

“This is my vibe. This side," she indicates the wider side, “goes inside me, and the other sits on my clit. They both vibrate. Then I like to fuck myself with the dildo.”

I slide my thumb over my slit, enjoying the way her eyes follow my every move.

“For a Catholic boy, you sure are built to sin.”

I give her a smile, but when I speak, my voice is rough.

“I appreciate the compliment. But I didn’t say you could speak. If you remind me I’m Catholic one more time, I’m going to bend you over my knee and spank you. Do you understand me?”

I watch as her nipples harden into peaks and a shiver runs over her body.

She nods her acquiescence.

“No, I want to hear you say it.”

She licks her lips before she speaks. “Yes. I understand.”

“Show me how you fuck yourself.”

She reaches into her bag again and pulls out a glass cylinder.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a sensitizing cream. It’s made of menthol and stuff; it makes my clit tingle.”

I give her a fast nod of approval and watch as she squirts several drops onto her fingers. She seems to consider it for a moment, then lifts her feet so that they rest on the edge of her table. She lets her knees drop, and I get my first glance at her glorious pussy. Using one hand, she spreads herself and applies her lotion with the other. It may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

I watch, never altering the slow pace of my hand on my cock, as she slips the vibrator into her cunt, then settles it in place. I can’t hear anything when she turns it on, but immediately see the change that comes over her features. Her eyes glaze over, and that lip gets sucked right back into her mouth. My next goal in life is to have her lips in my mouth. Both sets.

She lubes up the dildo, then eases it inside herself. I’m surprised she uses any lube. I can see how wet she is through the phone. Her pussy is glistening with her natural juices.

“I bet you liked to be fucked good and hard with that, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I like it fairly hard.”

“I’m going to take you on your knees, with your ass in the air in front of me. I’m going to finger that sweet little cunt of yours, then use that dildo until you squirt all over me. Once your juices are dripping down my hand and you’ve come so hard you’re seeing stars, I’ll ram my dick into you. I’ll hold your hips until they bruise from my fingertips, then pound you until you’re falling apart around me. When you’re a dripping, sopping mess, I’ll spread you out in front of me, then lick my cum out of your pussy. I want to taste myself inside of you.”

“Most men wouldn’t enjoy that.”

“Most men are fucking morons.”

She speeds up her pace, using the leverage of her feet against the table to help her penetration. Her other hand she brings to her breasts, rubbing and squeezing her nipples in turn. I’m enjoying the show, but—.

“Stop,” I say, and she freezes on the spot.

“I told you to fuck yourself. I didn’t say you could touch anything else.”

“I’m sorry,” she pants, and I can tell the control I have over her, even through the phone, is exactly what she’s looking for.

“It’s fine. This time. We haven’t established any ground rules.”

Her left-hand hovers over her stomach, but her right increases its pace in her beautiful cunt.

“Show me how you like to be touched.”

She lets her hand skim over her mound, her belly, then her fingers graze their way up her torso to her tits, caressing and pinching and tweaking as she goes.

“Do you want to hear what I’m going to do to you?”

“Mmhmm.” Her rhythm falters before continuing on. I can feel the sweat dripping down my chest. My balls are pulled tight against me, straining for release.

“I think I might strap you to my bed. Really take my time with you.”

Her eyes close, and she moans into the air, nodding her head in encouragement.

“I’ll start at your feet, licking and biting my way up your legs.”

I’m having trouble concentrating, watching the way she’s shoving that dildo in and out and back into her pussy again. She’s losing her coordination, and I can see the tremble in her arms as she reaches down and rubs the vibrator harder against her clit.

“When I get to your pussy, I’ll use my tongue on everything but it. Suck my initials into your hips, leave a perfect imprint of my teeth in your thigh. I’m going to tease my fingers through your curls, making sure I lick and suck and touch every part of you except for where you need it most.”

Her chest is heaving, and I’m stroking my cock for all it’s worth.

“I’ll latch my teeth onto your nipple, pulling it tight between my lips as I let my fingers graze over your opening, tease the tips of one, then two fingers into your cunt.”

She lets out a high-pitched keening noise, and I watch in awe as her orgasm rips through her, powerful even from this side of the receiver.

She starts to slow, to hesitate in her strokes.

“I didn’t tell you to stop. I haven’t come yet.”

“Tim, please,” she wines, and I feel it painfully in my balls.

“Tell me how you want me,” I demand.

She immediately complies, slowing her motions, but not stopping altogether.

“I want you to hold me still while you fuck my face. Call me your dirty slut.”

“You are a little slut. Coming all over that dildo pretending it was my cock.”

I watch as she removes the dildo from her core and replaces it with her fingers.

“I want you to take me to a club and fuck me on the dance floor, where anyone could see. I want you to mark me as yours, where everyone can see it.”

At that, I come, releasing over my hand and belly, picturing her words in my mind. She is mine. In every way possible. She just doesn’t realize it yet.

She strokes herself through my orgasm, and when I finally say “you can stop,” she pulls her fingers out with a hiss, her pussy sore from its over use.

I release my grip on my dick, reaching down to pull at my balls.

“Do you want to go again?” I ask.

“Fuck yeah,” she says, and there’s a lightness to her voice that I haven’t heard in months. “But not tonight. That was good Tim, real good. I’m going to need to recoup.”

The way she says that rubs me the wrong way. Like I'm a puppy who earned a treat.

“Let’s set one rule, right now. When we’re together like this, I’m in charge. Got it? I don’t need your pats on the head or your words of approval. All I need is you on your knees ready to follow instructions. Do we understand each other?”

Her gulp is audible.

“Yes, Sir.”

I have to fight the urge to smile.

“Good. I need to get cleaned up, then I need to get home. Tomorrow, Johnnies, two o’clock. We can talk then. Sounds good?”

She nods, but at my eyebrow raise, she uses her voice.

“Yeah, that sounds really good.”

“Good.” I pause for a minute. “Oh, and Lucy?”

“Yeah Tim?”

“Don’t touch yourself until I say so.”

**Chapter Three**   
**Lucy**

Tim beats me there.

I wanted to get Johnnies first. I felt like I needed to get there early, to—I don't know—establish my dominance or something? I just wanted to get there first.

Instead, like I'm fifteen again; I spent thirty minutes changing clothes over and over in front of my mirror until I was satisfied with my appearance. How do I make the statement that nothing that's happened in the last thirty-six hours has remotely discombobulated my mojo without showing up wearing a ballgown or carrying a six-shooter on my hip or something? You see my dilemma, right?

I settled on a pair of jean shorts, maybe a smidge tighter and shorter than I usually wear, a graphic tee, and my pair of chucks—no laces, no socks. My shirt is wildly inappropriate after what happened yesterday. It says “I lick the salt, swallow the tequila and suck the lime”, but the words “I,” “Lick,” “Swallow,” and “Suck” are big and bold, while the others can't be read except up close. The only reason I wore it is because he's seen it a half dozen times already. That, and maybe I'm hoping to throw him off his game as strongly as he did me.

It's a seat-yourself kind of place, and he's got a table towards the back. He looks—normal. Not like he just phone fucked his best friend's sister. He's got on a Deadpool shirt, pulled tight across his muscles. His hair is product free and wavy on his head. It's cut close to the sides but left longish on top, so the curls go any which way they want, and I wonder if he had a haircut this morning. It's when I see his glasses firmly on his nose I realize he wasn't wearing any last night. He needs to shave, and I'm suddenly desperate to feel his stubble rubbing against my skin.

I let my eyes scan over the crowd. It caters to the thirty-somethings and under, and it's a popular place to hang out. I notice I'm not the only one checking out the stubble on Tim's cheeks. Several of the women in the pizza bar are giving Tim covert glances. A few, not so secret. He seems oblivious to it all, looking at something on his phone and using his middle finger to push his glasses back up his nose.

He waves me over when he sees me. I gather my wits around me like a shield and move through the table and chairs to join him.

There are two glasses and a pitcher of beer already on the table.

"Sorry I'm late," I say as I pull out a chair.

"No problem," he shrugs, but I'm oddly giddy to see a layer of relief behind his eyes. He was worried I wasn't going to show. Good. Not that there was any chance of that happening. Whatever is going on here, I want more.

"I ordered already," he says, and seconds later, a waitress comes by carrying a salad and an order of garlic knots. She places the mixture in front of me, the knots in the middle, and winks at Tim as she asks him if he needs anything else.

What—what is happening here? Did I go to sleep Thursday night and wake up in an alternate universe? Or has Tim always attracted this sort of attention, and I just never noticed it before?

"Lucy," he asks me, and I'm pulled from my ruminations on the universe, "Salad, knots, and the meat lovers Calzone, right? Anything else?" Has he always known my order? I'm so confused.

"Umm, no. I'm good. Thanks." I smile at the bitch flirting with Tim, and she gives me a sickly-sweet grin as she flounces off to help another table.

"What's Jackson doing today?" he asks, stuffing his face with garlic-laced goodness.

"Like you don't know," I scoff. "You've probably talked to him half a dozen times already this morning."

"We're not attached at the hip, you know. Just because we're close doesn't mean we talk daily."

"Oh, really, let me see your phone then."

A blush creeps up his cheeks as he jabs his glasses on his nose unnecessarily, then ducks his head before mumbling, "We're men. We text," and shoving another knot in his mouth.

That effectively removes the rest of the tension from my shoulders, and I take a bite of my salad. One thing—okay, well, the main thing that's been bothering me since yesterday takes residence in my mind, and I feel comfortable enough to talk about it now.

"You know, I've never seen you like that before. Like last night, I mean."

He snorts, and it's the cutest thing I've ever seen.

"I'd like to think I'd remember it if you had."

I can't help the giggle that escapes.

"Not that, you moron. The clothes! When did you learn to dress like that, Tim, and why aren't you now? It was hot; I'll give it to you."

"Oh," he chuckles, and he rotates his shoulders as if he's embarrassed. "That. Once the girls in the office realized I was there to stay, they decided I needed a makeover. They put like a month's income on my credit card, but I have to admit, they've got good taste."

"So why are you still wearing clothes designed for children," I ask, using my fork to point at the Deadpool shirt.

"I'll have you know everything I wear is from the men's department. It's cool for guys to wear superhero clothes now. Geek Chic is what Angela calls it. It's the same reason I'm only allowed to wear my glasses at work if I leave my hair natural. It makes me look metro."

Thankfully, the rest of our food arrives and gives me a chance to digest this information. Alpha, Beta, Metro? Geek Chic is right. I've learned more about Tim's personality in the last two days than the previous two decades combined.

"Did I go too far?"

It catches me off guard, and I use a napkin to wipe the grease from my chin before I answer. I know what he's talking about, and it's not the nerd look.

"No. You could have gone farther. I won't deny that it was," sexy as fuck, "unexpected. Not in a bad way though. I'll understand if you don't want to do it again. It's a dangerous game to play."

He licks his lips, and I have to squeeze my knees together at the sight.

"Do you wanna play games with me, baby girl?"

My back arches, as if willing him to reach across the table and take me into his arms.

"Set the terms."

Tim picks up his glass, bringing it to his lips. He tilts his head back, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob, his neck muscles flex, as he swallows the rest of his beer. Placing it back on the table, he pushes his chair out, walking around and sitting next to me. He pulls the chair sideways, spreading his knees so that my seat is between his legs. He leans forward one hand on the table, one across the back on my chair, his face close to my ear.

"The second you say stop, we will. If I push you too far or do something you don't like, speak up, and it won't happen again. Until that moment, I'm in charge. If I tell you to drop to your knees and suck my dick in the middle of the gas station, I expect you to reach for my cock on the way down. Do we understand each other?"

I can't help it. I'm panting, my heart pounding in my ears. Tim is watching me from under his eyelashes, and I immediately wonder how soon I can get his head between my knees. If anyone were to see us, they'd probably think that we're fighting, with the possessive, somewhat aggressive way he's got me caged. His hand around my shoulders has found my skin, and I hiss as he softly brings it up the back of my neck, buries his fingers in my hair, and slowly, painstakingly, tugs.

The thing is, I know Tim would never ask for something so degrading. He respects women too much for that. He respects me, which is what makes it such a turn on. I trust him enough to say yes. I would if he wanted, but he wouldn't, so I'd never have to. It makes a perfect sort of sense if you think about it.

I nod my head, causing the sensation to sharpen at my movements.

"Words, baby girl. I need you to use your words."

"I understand, Sir."

He laughs at me, and it's dark and brooding.

"The sir isn't necessary unless you want it—unless you need it. I have one goal, which is to keep you satisfied and safe."

He lets go of my hair and is gently running his fingers up and down my neck. It's nice—more than. I allow my eyes to drift close, and my head falls limply to my chest, enjoying the vibrations it sends to my core.

"Hard limits," he says, and I feel as he moves his chair closer still.

"I don't like pain, despite what Rhianna says. No whips or chains. Handcuffs, maybe. You talking about strapping me to the bed was hot."

He moans out a quiet mmmm sound, and it makes it difficult to concentrate.

"Anything else?"

"Honestly, right now, there's not much of anything I wouldn't let you do to me. I don't know. No caning maybe? I just want to feel good again."

He laughs once more, the sound intoxicating as it rumbles from his chest.

"Caning? Really? You do have an imagination. Alright, baby girl, I'll make you feel good. Can I kiss you?"

I might combust on the spot if he doesn't.

I start to nod, yes, but remember his instructions about using my words.

"Please," I whisper, and I already sound like a hot mess.

"Good," he says, then pushes up from the table. He walks back to his side, smirking, and the denial of the kiss ratchets me up to an eleven. I pick up my beer and chug it down as fast as I can, trying to lower my internal temperature. How can not being kissed be so damn hot?

"How did you learn how to do that," I ask him with awe in my voice.

"I read a lot of Cosmo.” 

**Chapter Four**   
**Tim**

To gel or not to gel. That is the question. I'm meeting Lucy at a club tonight, to play out a little fantasy. Clubs are not my scene. Not that I've never been to one, of course. I just prefer one-on-one personal interactions rather than mingling in a crowd. This isn't for me, though; it's for Sophie.

I haven't been to Twilight downtown, so I had to ask the ladies at the office what my attire should be. Since they picked out most of the clothes in my closet, it wasn't hard for them to give me advice. I'm wearing work clothes, basically. Fitted dress slacks, black. Fitted Silver button-down shirt. Purple waistcoat, purple tie, silver tie clip, and cufflinks. I put my contacts in so I didn't risk my glasses in the club and dashed on one of the many, many bottles of cologne I have. The girls at work get them as samples for articles and such, and if they don't have a beau at the moment to gift them to, they end up with me.

All that's left is my hair. I slick it back for work most days. But it's going to be hot, I'm sure, with all those bodies. Besides, I have this image of Lucy running her fingers through my hair. Making the decision, I drop the container of hair product back onto my counter.

I've only seen her twice this week, and in neither situation was I able to get her naked and underneath me. We've talked a lot, though—all day, every day, actually. Half the night too. My hand hasn't gotten this kind of workout since I was sixteen.

We're going separately to the club. Lucy will text when she's in an Uber, but I decided to drive. I'm not planning on doing a lot of drinking. I want my wits about me.

It's millennial night at the club, which means that they're playing good music. I still haven't heard from Lucy by the time I get here, so I order a shot at the bar.

It's nice. The decor is dark, but there's enough light that I can see everything clearly. The music is blasting; I can feel the bass vibrating up from my soles. Still, it's not so loud that I can't hear the conversations directly next to me. I'm glad I chose to leave my hair natural; it's going to be a mess either way with all the body heat in here. Better to not have to wash out the gel at the end of the night.

"Hey," comes from a voice on my left, and I pivot my body to address the speaker directly. There's a pair of girls, younger than me by a few years. Just past the legal age to drink, if I had to guess. Cute, average height, if you remove them from the four-inch heels. Tight dresses.

I hesitate before I respond, thinking about Lucy, but she's not here yet. Besides that, the whole reason for tonight's excursion was for her to get picked up by a stranger. Me. Even though I've been best friends with her brother since before dinosaurs roamed the earth, it's become painfully apparent to us both that, for all that, we are strangers. Or I am. I know pretty much everything there is to know about her. Except what her pussy tastes like—and if I have my way, I'll know that before the night's over.

"Evening, ladies," I say, and give them a little twinkle. I wasn't lying to Lucy when I joked about reading Cosmo. I've become somewhat of a pet project to my work wives, being the only single man in the company under the age of fifty. I'm not ashamed to say; when I try, I've got game.

"Do you want to dance?" the shorter of the two ask. I can't tell if she's the one who approached me, to begin with. It doesn't matter; there's only one woman I'm going home with tonight. I pull my phone out—still nothing from Lucy. I send her a quick text.

I'm waiting.

"Only if I can dance with you both. In the words of Elizabeth Bennet, men are scarce, and I won't have a lady standing alone without a partner."

That you can blame on my senior lab partner, who had an extremely unhealthy obsession with Pride and Prejudice. I finally read it just to see what she was talking about. It was alright.

They bust into full-blown giggling, and both readily agree. I reach out my hands, one to each of them, and lead them to the dance floor.

I learned most of my dance moves from Will Smith and the movie Hitch. Not the other guy, though I try to throw in a neat move now and then. As the years have progressed, and the work wives, as they refer to themselves, have deepened my female education, I've learned a few body rolls and how to sway my hips the right way. For the most part, though, I live in my spot and let the ladies do as they will.

The DJs good. Destiny's Child’s Jumpin Jumpin comes on, and I have a woman on each hip. Their hands are in the air, running through their hair and occasionally giving each other a high five. They grind on my legs, and I grab a hand and swing them both out, then pull them back to me right as the beat changes again. It's one of the main things I hate about club music! I never get to listen to a full song. Missy Elliot is on now, and our movements have become sharper. One glides in closer, centering herself in front of me, and the other steps to the side, letting her friend have all the limelight. I still haven't gotten their names.

The song changes after one verse, and I don't recognize the artist, just the chorus. I'm so into you now. I am into her. Lucy is so fucking sexy it hurts. At some signal from the girl in my arms, her friend shuffles off into the crowd. She wraps her arms around my neck, closing some of the distance I'd been keeping between us. I'm about ready to shut it down when nails dig into my arm, and I'm yanked so hard I stumble.

Lucy is there. I have less than a second to take her in before she grabs me by the tie, pulling my face down to meet her. She's aggressive, voracious. She claims my mouth, tightening her hold on me to the point of pain. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her chest tight against my own. Her dress is backless—I can feel her skin between the thin webbing of the fabric.

I forget about the crowd, forget about the girl with whom I was just dancing. Everything falls away except for the feel of Lucy under my hands and the taste of her on my tongue.

Finally, she lets go of my tie and runs both sets of nails sharply over my scalp. The sensation sends lightning pulsing down my spine. She stretches in my arms, lifting to her toes, trying to pull as much of me to her as she can, and something—happens.

There's a change of air pressure in the room, the earth tilts on its axis, and the kiss alters. She's still as possessive as she was before, as voracious. But her touch changes, becoming softer. Tender.

I can't hear it with the blood pounding in my ears, but I feel the reverberation of her moan into my mouth, twirling her tongue with mine. It undoes me on the spot. I grab her leg, running my palm over her thigh, lifting it to wrap around my hip. I have to have more of her, feel more, taste more. Now.

"Dude," comes a voice from behind me, along with a pat on the back. "This isn't the place. Take it somewhere else."

I don't have to be told twice.

I let my hand skim her thigh, her hip, her side, until I have her fingers in mine, dazed as we are, and pull her from the building.

**Chapter Five**   
**Lucy**

I'm pushed up against the side of his car. It's a Subaru hybrid for heaven's sake, and I’m reminded again of the warring aspects of his personality. How can someone be such a dweeb and so suave all at the same time?

One of his hands is by my head; the other is splayed across my hip, holding me against the door.

My eyes are closed, and I'm honestly kind of mad about that. I want to see Tim as his lips trail a line of fire down my throat, but the sensation is too much. I'm moments away from overloading, and my sight has shut down to protect me. One less impression to process.

He smells good—real good—like something woodsy and dark. Underneath, though, I swear I scent the ink from his graphic novels where the colors bleed onto his fingertips.

He still hasn't shaved, and his stubble has a soft and grown in quality about it. I find myself hoping I wake up with a whisker burn tomorrow. If only to prove that this happened and isn't some weird coma dream.

"I thought you were going to tell me when you were on your way," he growls against my neck, and the feel of his lips would tickle if I weren't already so keyed up.

"I figured it defeated the purpose of pretending we were strangers if you knew when I got there."

"You broke the rules," he grumbles, and I bury my hands in Tim's hair. I need an anchor. The hand against my hip is moving, first squeezing my ass, then dropping to the hem of my dress. The dress hugs my body like a second skin, partly for aesthetics and partly as a method to ensure it stays on. It stops just below my butt, and his fingers lightly burn against my leg. I need more—more pressure, more contact. Which is why he's so soft, I'm sure. Tease.

They dip under the dress, slinking their way upward, and I let out a wanton sound, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his lips back to mine.

"Are you wet?" he asks into my mouth, but it's a rhetorical question. We both know the answer. His fingers skim the curve of my ass, dipping into the space between my cheeks.

"Not wearing any panties, I see," and that's not exactly the case. I don't want to ruin the surprise, though.

"Can you come for me, right here? Right now," he whispers, and I'm praying that's rhetorical too.

He glances around, and we're alone if you don't count the security cameras that I'm sure are watching us as we speak. Unexpectedly, he pulls his phone out and hits a button, then puts it on the roof of the car. In one swift move, he drops to his knees, lifting my leg over his shoulder.

"Jesus Christ," he groans when he gets a look at what's under the dress. Black crotchless panties, with straps under my ass, leaving me bare as the day I was born.

I try to come up with some witty response, but he slams two fingers into my core and buries his head in my clit, and I lose the ability to speak.

My orgasm starts almost immediately. I'm strung so tight it wouldn't have taken more than him blowing on my pussy to set me off. He licks me through it fast and furious, his fingers flicking back and forth against my g-spot. I hold on to his head, riding his face through the waves of pleasure until I'm pulling at him to stop, my knees moments away from buckling underneath me.

"Too much, it's too much."

When he rises to his feet, he pulls my skirt until it's adequately settled, then dips his head to kiss me. It's calm, practically serene compared to how we were embracing a few minutes ago. One hand settles on my hip again, but the other reaches for his phone, bringing it to our faces.

"A minute forty-five seconds. Take away thirty seconds from before and after, and I'll round it to a buck fifteen. Not bad, baby girl. Shall we take this home?"

He—he timed me? That stupid, that—"You cocky, smug son of a bitch."

He hits the remote start on his car, and the engine purrs to life behind me. Another click and he pops the locks on the doors. Reaching around me, he pulls on the handle, effectively pushing me out of the way.

In a move more reminiscent of an old-time movie than the twenty-first century, he gives me a half bow as he manipulates me into the passenger seat, kissing the palm of my hand once I'm seated.

"Shouldn't I be?" he smirks, and with absolutely no response to be had, I slam the door in his face.

My skin feels too tight, pulled taught against my bones. My slick is pooling between my legs, and I all but smell my desire in the air. Without my consent, my hips are rocking in slow circles in the seat, desperately searching out friction.

Sitting beside me however, Tim is the embodiment of tranquility. One arm rests lightly against the armrest on the door, the other is caressing the steering wheel, gently easing us around side streets back towards his apartment.

If he’s as hyped up as I am, he sure does hide it well.

Trying to ease some of my mounting tension, I reach into my clutch and pull the single serving size vodka out.

“Cheers,” I say, before chugging the bottle in its entirety.

“You brought liquor with you to a bar? Isn’t that somewhat counter intuitive?”

I lick my lips, enjoying the burn as the liquor slides past my tongue to settle in my belly. “Worked out rather well since I was only in the building for a handful of minutes. I never even made it to the counter.”

“And whose fault is that? For someone who had a very specific idea of how she wanted the evening to go, you sure threw it out the window pretty fast.”

The warmth spreads from my belly, coursing along my veins to sooth my nerve endings.

“I’m a woman; it’s my prerogative to change my mind.”

I let my hands trail up my torso, digging the palms of my hands hard into my breasts. They’re achy, like I’m close to my period, even though I’m not. It’s not hormones causing the longing in my chest. It’s desire, pure and simple.

“Did you ask permission before you touched yourself?”

His voice is deep and calm, like he’s asking about the weather. But the glance he shoots my way is anything but sedate. Fire burns behind his smooth exterior. It sends a burst of heat crawling up my extremities that can’t be blamed on the alcohol.

“No,” I reply, proud that my voice doesn’t waver.

“Then what do you think you’re doing? From now until I say otherwise, your body belongs to me, and I don’t want you touching what’s mine.”

A shiver runs down my spine, and I clench my internal muscles together as desire rips through me. Still, though, I'm as irritated as I am turned on. He's grasped this whole domineering thing a little too quickly for my tastes.

I reach for my purse again, intending to snag the second bottle of liquor, but Tim beats me to it and tosses my clutch over his shoulder into the back seat.

“No drinking either. I want you with a clear head for what I have planned for you.”

I swallow the small gasp that tries to escape and let the anticipation build as I realize we’ve finally reached his apartment complex. Let the fun begin.

  
**Chapter Six**  
 **Tim**

The walk to my apartment seems to take forever. Lucy is practically vibrating with suppressed energy next to me, and it’s taking all of my self-control not to pull her into a dark corner in the hallway and have my way with her. Luckily, there are no dark corners, so that helps.

I take her hand in mine, interlocking our fingers, while I use the other hand to unlock and open my door. Her palms are sweaty, and I want to rub them down my chest.

I push the door open, and drag her in next to me, tossing my keys onto the kitchen table and slamming the door behind me. Before I have a chance to check myself, I’ve got her pushed up against the front door, arms over her head, pinned beneath my hands.

Her chest is heaving, and I let my head dip to lick and kiss my way up her throat to her lips. I want nothing more than to toss her onto my couch and bury myself inside of her; but stop, reminding myself over and over this whole thing is for her. Not for me.

“Tell me what you want, you nasty little beast.”

My lips latch onto her earlobe, and I flick and nibble on the flesh, enjoying the sounds it pulls from her chest.

“I want,” she pants, and my balls tighten just listening to the needy tilt in her voice. “I want to suck your dick.” No problems there, lover. “I want you to fuck my face.”

White hot need pulses through me, but I resist, immediately pushing her to her knees. One of us needs to remain in control during this, otherwise we both could end up getting hurt. And I don’t just mean physically. I need to remember that I did this to give her a safe and fun outlet and not to expect anything more than that. She can’t know that I’m in love with her. I have a feeling it would certainly ruin the mood.

“Oh yeah? And have you been a good girl? Do you deserve to have my dick in your mouth?” I think back to an article one of my girls wrote a few months ago about women's fantasies and erotic humiliation and pray that I’m doing it right.

“Yes, please,” she whispers. Then, with a little more backbone in her voice, “can I touch you please?”

I want to scream yes, yes, please do, but I retain my control, and with a yank, reverse our positions on the door. My back is against the wall, and I hesitate for a moment, before finally giving her permission with a nod. She hesitates, and I remember my own rules. Use your voice, Tim.

“I want you on your knees. Grab a pillow from the couch.”

She immediately does as she’s bid, kicking off her shoes as she goes. I consider reprimanding her about taking off her shoes, but immediately drop the thought. This is about giving her pleasure; sucking my dick in three-inch heels isn’t necessary for that.

I reach down to unbuckle my pants and chuckle when Lucy smacks my hand away, unclasping my belt and lowering my zipper herself. I watch her watching me as I pop the buttons of my vest, slipping it from my shoulders, then pull my shirt from my pants, taking the buttons one at a time, letting her enjoy the show.

She’s slowly stroking my cock, and it’s hard and heavy in her hand, straining in her direction.

“How hard do you want me to fuck you,” I ask, and I know I’ve done the right thing by the way her eyes light up at my question.

“As hard as you want. I want to feel you against the back of my throat.”

I let my fingers trail into her hair and tug firmly until her neck and back are arched in front of me.

“Do you have any idea how many times I imagined you on your knees in front of me. You and that stupid trombone. Every time you puckered your lips and brought it to your mouth, I imagined you making that face before you licked my cock.”

Humor and surprise coat her features, and she dips her tongue out and licks me from the base to the tip before she responds.

“You should have asked then. I had a wild streak as a teenager.”

She gives a little shrug, like there was ever a possibility of this happening before right this moment, and then her lips are wrapped around me, swallowing me whole.

Jesus Christ, she’s good at that, and I have to mentally stop myself from thinking about all those bad boys she’d talked about that taught her how to do this with her mouth. Her lips cover her teeth, and she swirls her tongue across my slit before taking me back down her throat again.

“Such a good little cock sucker you are. Look at the way you swallow my dick. I bet it turns you on, doesn’t it. Being on your knees in front of me like this. Do you want to touch yourself?”

I get a safe grip on her hair and flick my hips forward, letting my dick slip farther down her throat before quickly pulling back out.

She makes a sound like agreement then nods her head, sucking me even harder as she does. Her teeth graze against me, and it sends sparks shooting up from my dick.

“Well you can’t. Not yet. I want all of your attention on my cock. I was just thinking about how good you are, and how much cock you’ve had to suck to get this good. Are you my little cock slut?”

She nods again and makes a slurping sound. My balls pull up inside me. There are too many things going on in my head; suddenly, all I can think about is that I need a new word for slut. I guess you can take the boy out of the office, but you can’t take the copy editor out of the boy.

My hips snap forward again of their own accord, and I worry momentarily, but I shouldn’t have. Her eyes close in pleasure, and I let my body take over after that, slowly fucking into her mouth.

“I’m going to come down your throat, and you’re going to swallow it all. Do you understand me?”

She moans against me again, and I close my eyes and let her take over. With one hand on my balls and one hand on my ass, I relax and let her control the ride, snapping my hips until I’m coming with a jerk. She does as she promised, letting her throat take me down until I feel her gag reflex against my dick, and I remove my softening member from her mouth.

“Wow, baby girl. That was good. I’ll make you better.”

A shiver takes over her body as I use my hands under her shoulders and haul her to her feet. Deciding to shut off my brain and let my instincts do the talking, I drag her behind me into my bedroom.

I peel her dress off of her and am rewarded with every inch I reveal. She’s not wearing a bra, and her breasts are high, tight, and firm, the curves fitting perfectly in my hands. I relish the sounds she makes as I pull her nipples one by one into my mouth. The sharp intake of breath when I let my teeth graze the underside of her breast, sucking and nipping little love bites as I go. She’ll be covered in my marks tomorrow, and the thought alone makes my dick grow in need again.

I grab her panties and yank them off of her with a force that pulls a gasp from her lips. It wasn’t hard. They were only held on her by a few thin straps of silk. Instead of dropping them to the floor with the rest of our clothes, I walk a few feet to my dresser and shove them into the top drawer.

"Those cost me thirty bucks," she pants, letting her fingers graze her nipples.

"I'll Venmo you the cash," I smirk.

Without a second thought I toss her onto the bed, enjoying the way her breasts bounce as she hits the mattress. She laughs, loud and free, her face scrunching up at her eyes, and I feel something tighten in my chest. Now to keep her in my bed like this forever.

I pull the belt from my pants and snap it between my hands. I watch as she has a visceral reaction, her body arching off of the bed as if I’d snapped the belt across her bare skin. I let it drop to the floor, my pants and boxers quickly following. Now. I have to have her now.

I crawl onto the bed, moaning when my lips connect with her clit. Without bothering to soften my movements, I plunge a finger, then two, into her core and fuck her with my hand while I devour her clit with my mouth. She’s hardly silent underneath me, withering and twitching so much I have to drape my arm across her hips to hold her in place against my mouth. Her legs wrap around my head, and all I can think about is what a way to die as she loses her grip on me and I gasp in a gulp of air.

She tastes divine, better than she did when I licked her against my car. Sweet and musky, and I dip my tongue between her folds, eating her with the desperation of a dying man in the desert until she’s quaking underneath me, begging me to keep going and screaming at me to stop all at the same time.

I push her hard, past where I’d normally stop and let her gather her wits about her. After a minute or so, her body melts like jelly against me. It’s amazing and beautiful and awesome, like I found a reset button that no man has ever known about before.

Moving my mouth from her center, I lick and taste my way up her body, flattening my tongue against her nipples, and she lolls bonelessly underneath me.

“You okay?” I double check, and at the languid smile and noodle-like nod, I laugh against her breast and roll her over so that her ass is in the air.

“I’m not done with you yet, baby girl,” I whisper against her ear, then make my way towards the end of the bed, crawling in between her legs.

She tries to rise to her knees, but before she has the chance, I submerge myself inside her until her ass cradles my pelvis, and I have to freeze, ignoring the desire to empty myself inside her on the spot. I run my hands down her sides and up her front, trying to ease some of the tension I feel coursing through her body.

Lucy moans, her voice pitching high before ending in a guttural groan. I rest my head on her shoulder blades, gathering my self-control before I start to rotate my hips, pulling out before slamming back into her. Again. And Again.

“You take me so good, baby. My cock feels amazing inside your pussy.” She lifts up from her elbows onto shaky arms, and I let my fingers play in her hair, pulling until her pants match the rhythm of my thrusting.

“Harder,” she says, and it’s so guttural that I almost don’t catch it. I grab her hips, hard enough to bruise, and think about how good I want her to feel, trying to forget that it’s Lucy’s walls clenching around my cock.

When she starts pushing back against me, meeting me halfway, I scoop my arm around her waist and yank her up to meet me, plastering her back against my front. I spread my knees, bracing on my ankles as she rides me with all her strength, grinding her ass against my pelvis.

Her head is thrown back against my shoulder, her wavy blond hair wild around us, and it’s then I realize I still have my shirt on. She’s using is as leverage to lift herself and pound back down again.  
With one hand on her breast, the other finds her clit, rubbing it in hard little circles. I’m desperate to feel her fall apart around me, to taste her moans as she comes, and with a hand around her throat, I angle her mouth to reach mine, swallowing her grunts as she comes undone against me, breathing her air as she screams onto my tongue.

Lucy loosens her grip on my collar, letting her fingers graze my face, and my orgasm rips through me with spectacular force. Now it’s my turn to whimper obscenities into her mouth and for her to hold me while I feel my soul slip against hers.

My thrusts turn to spasms, unwilling to stop completely yet unable to control my body beyond sucking air into my lungs and willing my heart to return to normal.

Lucy drips against me like a waterfall, slowly collapsing in on herself until she slips from my grip completely, curled into a ball in the middle of my bed.

Adrenaline and worry spike my heartrate again, and I’m suddenly afraid that I’ve hurt her, until a dream-like smile slides across her features.

“That,” gasp, “Was,” gasp “Amazing.” When she exhales next, she stretches her body, and I watch as relaxation consumes her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Smiling to myself, I climb off the bed, surprised at the pulling in my calf muscles. I guess I’m going to need to concentrate on leg day more often. I slip my shirt from my shoulders, letting it pool on the floor with the rest of our clothes. I walk through the apartment, grabbing two bottles of water from the kitchen and a clean washcloth before I come back. She’s scooted up the bed some, so her head is on the pillows.

Worried about crossing some invisible line, yet not wanting her to have to sleep in my mess, I slip into the bed behind her, lifting her leg and placing my hand in between them.

“I’m going to need a minute or two before we go again,” she giggles, and I bring the washcloth to her skin, wiping up the mess currently making its way down her legs.

She gives a sleepy little sound, settling deeper into the pillows, and before I’ve even finished, she’s already asleep. Snoring cutely into my side of the bed.

  
**Chapter Seven**  
 **Lucy**

It’s trivia night at Johnnies, and as usual, the boys beat me there. Johnnies has these events once a month, and over the last year or so, it’s become tradition for us to participate. Between Tim and Jackson’s book smarts and mine and Sterling’s street smarts, we’ve become a reasonably badass team.

Tonight though, I stand at the front of the bar, watching the boys interact with the tables around them.

Jackson and Tim sit on one side of the table, alternating between talking to each other and flirting with the people around them. I use the term flirting loosely because everything Jackson does can be considered flirting. He is mostly gay, but the robustness of his personality always seems to bubble over to whomever he’s around. Guys, girls—it makes no difference. Wearing jeans and a plain t-shirt, he laughs at a joke with the enthusiasm of a toddler, and I feel an unexpected surge of affection for my baby brother. That’s why he’s always the center of attention. It’s impossible not to smile when you look at him.

Sterling is on the opposite side of the table, and I watch him watching my brother. Jackson pops up from his chair to hug a group of girls sitting at their regular spot next to us, and instead of getting jealous that these women fawn all over him, Sterling smiles this sweet little smile, something I know he keeps reserved just for Jackson. He must have come from work because he’s wearing a polo shirt and dress slacks.

Then there’s Tim. I feel like I’ve met him for the first time these last few weeks, rather than having known him most of my life. I don’t see my buddy anymore, but Tim The Man.

He takes Jackson's place in the girl pile, and I notice the small touches and flirting laughter that I’ve never paid attention to before. His hair is loose and curly with his glasses pushed up his nose, his shirt bearing some stupid cartoon character, but still—he commands the attention of his surroundings, drawing all eyes to him as he passes from hug to hug.

Whereas Jackson teases and flirts with abandon, Tim is quick to resume his seat, picking up the conversation with another neighboring table that he’d abandoned to hug the sluts. I mean our friends. As if he can feel my eyes on him he turns, and we lock gazes across the bar, my heart fluttering in my chest at the intimacy in the look despite the fifty people in the room with us.

The boys look in my direction, seeing what’s caught Tim’s attention, and the whole table lights up at the sight of me. How did I get so lucky? To have such a group of friends that smile like that when they see me? Even if I am basically related to two of them.

Jackson must be halfway buzzed already. “Lucy,” he screams, then tips his chair to the side in his rush to reach me.

“Jackson, dude. Why are you being so loud tonight?” I’m giggling, simply from being engulfed in his arms.

My brother leans in to whisper conspiratorially, but in reality speaks loud enough that half the people in the bar can probably hear him. “Sterling gave me a hand job in the parking lot! And Tim obviously got laid this weekend, despite his ‘a gentleman never tells,’ bullshit. Plus, look at you. You are practically glowing! Why shouldn’t I be happy?”

I can’t help the grin that takes over my face.

“I’ll drink to that, bro! Has anybody ordered me any food yet?” Sterling pulls out my chair, and Tim gives me a wink before facing his conversation partner one more time. I greedily drink the beer Jackson places in front of me while giving my brain a quick shake. We have some trivia to win.

“You’ve been staring at him all night.”

I startle violently when Sterling whispers in my ear and give him a dirty look while wiping the water I was trying to drink from my chin.

“No, I haven't.”

I say it as flippantly as I can, but Sterling just rolls his eyes and scoots his chair closer to me. I settle against him when he wraps his arm across the back of my chair. We’re on the last round of the tournament, and its sports trivia, so he and I are basically useless at this point. Our team is winning, but it’s not a large lead. Better we simply sit back and look pretty than try to answer and probably get it wrong. Jackson and Tim take winning trivia nights as seriously as their video games.

“Yes, you have. It’s okay though. I don’t blame you. He certainly makes for a fascinating subject.” I think about it for a moment or two. Talking to Sterling about Tim and I. I can’t. I just can’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to him about other things.

“Okay. Maybe I was staring. But not for whatever devious thing you have in your mind. We went out to lunch without you guys a couple of weeks ago. It’s not something that we’ve made a habit of over the years, you know. He’s Jackson’s friend, not mine. But I noticed, I mean—,” dammit, now I’m tongue tied again.

“Do women always flirt with him like that? I mean—?” Sterling, damn him, starts to laugh in earnest now.

“I know you’ve never thought of him like that. But yes, yes they do. Women, men, puppies. Him and Jackson both. Part of the appeal, to me at least, is the fact that they simply don’t care. They aren’t trying to make an impression, which is what leaves such a strong one. People wonder if Tim is gay, because of Jackson. Others wonder if Jackson is straight, because of Tim, and all the while, they laugh and joke, oblivious to the panties they leave wet and the pants they leave tented in their wake.”

I held my water glass close to my chest, watching said boys congratulate each other on another question right as Sterling lays out his theory.

“Jackson is blissfully unaware, huh?” I ask, and let my eyebrow raise in disbelief. Sterling chuckles in response, a cute little blush creeping over his cheekbones.

“No, you’re absolutely right. Jackson knows exactly the effect he has on the world and does everything he can to bask in the limelight. Tim though, I honestly believe doesn’t realize the impression he leaves on those around him. Which is part of what makes him so enticing. Besides the fact that the man sure can wear a suit.”

I feel Sterling watching me, and a slow smile spreads across my face. I tip my glass in his direction and am rewarded when he touches his rim to mine.

“That he can, bro. That he can.”

He knows how to take it off too.

  
**Chapter Eight**   
**Tim**

I'm on my back in Lucy's bed. She's riding me with a vigor that shouldn't surprise me by now but does all the same. Her nails are digging into my chest, and I'm whispering the filthiest things I can think of into space between us.

"I'm going to have a meeting at work with you underneath my desk, sucking my dick while I talk about word repetition with a dozen different people."

Her eyes close, but she nods emphatically, encouraging me to go on.

"I'll take you to that dive bar you like and bend you over the table. Fuck you right there in front of everyone. Then there'll be no doubt that you're my little slut. Cause you are a little slut, aren't you? Look at you, riding my dick for all that you're worth."

I keep trying to close the gap between us, but she's not having it. The more I try to rise, the more force she uses to keep me where she wants me. Lucy cares about nothing and no one except chasing her pleasure right now. She looks freaking magnificent.

I'm about ready to flip her over and use some of that dominance she's always going on about when the front door slamming rattles through my bones.

"Lucy," Jackson calls into the apartment. It's barely audible with her door shut, but she reacts as if he screamed it into her ear. Freezing on top of me, her nails in my skin suddenly turn painful. She jerks her head to look at her entryway so forcefully, I'll be surprised if she doesn't get whiplash.

Using her distraction to my advantage, I pull her down and thrust up simultaneously, watching as she bites her lip to keep from calling out. She tries to slap me away in mock anger, but her eyes rolling into the back of her head gives her away. I lather my tongue against her flesh, leaving teeth marks in her shoulder before I whisper, "You better answer him before he comes looking for you."

Clearing her throat, she answers, "I'm in my room. I'm sick. Don't come in. What do you want?"

I laugh against her skin, where I'm sucking on her collarbone. She sure sounds sick, all right. Strangled and weak, she squeals in the middle when I latch onto her nipple.

"Are you okay? You don't sound so hot."

He's closer now, separated from us by wood and drywall. I've never been an exhibitionist, not really. The fear of Jackson walking in and catching me banging his big sister is flat out doing it for me, though. The pressure's gotten to Lucy too. She's draped across my chest as I pound up inside of her. No longer exuding control, she's trying to hold on for dear life.

"I'm fine, Jackson. What do you need?"

His concern is evident in his reply.

"Have you seen Tim today? We were supposed to go to the gym. His car is in the garage, but I didn't see him when I passed by the workout area, and he's not in the apartment. Are you sure you're okay?"

I pull her in for a searing kiss, strangling whatever she was trying to say. Our sweat is mingling together as she glides against my body. She gasps when she yanks away, panting, "No, I haven't seen him. Go away."

I know what's going to happen a split second before it does. Blame it on my spidey sense, or twenty plus years of watching Jackson ignoring when to leave well enough alone. Either way, I have the space of a gun firing to decide what to do.

In one swift move, I tip Lucy to the side, pulling the blanket over me with the other hand.

Her "What the Fuck" coincides with the door opening then slamming shut so hard it rattles in the frame.

"Jesus Christ," Jackson wails from the hallway, "warn a guy next time."

I have to shove my fist in my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing as she sputters in indignation beside me. I'm sure Jackson won't open the door again. Not after finding his sister naked and spread eagle on her bed, but I can't take the risk that when she finally gets her words back, she says something awful enough that he needs to fight face to face: clothes or no clothes. I have borne witness to some truly epic Evans siblings fights in the past. I'm sure my naked cock swinging in the wind would add a whole new level to the one brewing.

Luckily, Jackson seems to realize that discretion is the better part of valor. Or maybe that you shouldn't walk into people's rooms when the door is shut. Either way, he's practically whimpering on the other side of the particleboard, spewing apologies and comments about bleaching his brain. He's so incoherent I'm afraid we've broken him.

"Oh My God, Lucy, I'm so sorry. That was so gross. Why the fuck didn't you lock your door? I'll message Tim and tell him to meet me at the gym. He's probably trying to bang the chick from 1A again. Oh my God, Lucy, my fucking eyes."

He's still rambling when what he's said penetrates my brain, and I lunge for my phone, praying I get to it before it goes off inside of his sister's bedroom. I'm twisted in the bedsheets, and sure we've been caught when the sound of my bare ass hitting the floor rumbles through the air, but Lucy has it covered already. She's on her knees, still naked and dripping, screaming at Jackson at the top of her lungs.

"My eyes lost their virginity when I walked in and found the Peterson kid blowing you at thirteen, you motherfucker. Teach you to walk into my room. You're just jealous that your boyfriend likes my ass better than he likes yours."

I block out her hollering, instead trying to listen for Jackson and crawling to my phone on her desk. The front door slams, shaking the walls of the apartment, a heartbeat before my phone vibrates in my hands.

_Jackson: Meet me at the gym. Whatever you do, DO NOT GO TO THE APARTMENT. IT NEEDS AN EXORCISM!!!_

At last I collapse on the floor, the intensity of the previous few minutes leaching out of me in a rush. Lucy deflates as well, wilting like a flower on the bed. The minute our eyes meet, the damn breaks, and our stress flies out of us in waves of laughter. Climbing to my knees, I make my way back over to her, yanking her half off the bed to meet me for a kiss.

Any other woman, and I'd be afraid I hurt her. But not Lucy. She purrs into my mouth, lacing her fingers into my hair.

When we part, I push her back onto the bed. I give her side a smack for good measure.

"On your knees, wench. I have someplace to be."

Yanking her up by her hips, I assume my position between her legs and get to work.

  
**Chapter Nine**  
 **Lucy**

I'm curled up in my chair, re-reading my well-worn copy of The Time Traveler's Wife, when I hear the front door open, then close. I don't need to turn around to see who it is. I can tell by the way my heart speeds up and the warming sensation that builds from the bottom of my belly.

He bypasses me on the chair, walking over to where my brother sits on the couch. He's got his glasses on and a backward hat. His shirt is black, and I'd be willing to bet when he finally faces me, it's something that involves Star Wars. A smile tugs at the sides of my lips, and I duck my head back into my paperback, keeping it to myself.

I watch, peeking over the edge of my book. They do the complicated handshake that they've done since they were eight, and Tim walks the few feet to the charging station, grabbing another switch controller from the dock.

He walks to me now, leaning down and kissing me on the top of the head. Instead of sitting with Jackson on the couch, he folds himself down at my feet, leaning against the front of my chair. I watch as he takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his curls. I can't help myself and reach out and do the same.

"Mario Kart?" he asks Jackson, and within minutes, they are racing around a track. I watch for a few rounds, enjoying the insults and complaining they throw each other's way—"Stop hitting me with the fucking shells, man"—before I let Henry and Claire pull me back into their world.

It's my favorite book in the universe. The heartache interspersed with eternal love. The fact that while Henry is the main protagonist, he's the main antagonist too. The story is about Claire and her life without him. I'm at the part where Claire is cheating on Henry with Henry when Jackson's voice penetrates my consciousness.

"What the hell is going on here?"

It takes Tim tensing up under my fingers before I realize he's talking to me. To us. It dawns on me that I've been playing with Tim's hair since the minute he sat down.

I freeze but restart my movements a few seconds later. It's just like when you wiz by a cop going twenty over the speed limit. You can't slam on the breaks and let him know you know you're doing something wrong. You just have to fly by and hope he doesn't notice.

Realization flashes behind Jackson's eyes, and panic flares in my belly before I squash it back down.

"No. Nonononono. Tim is the new boyfriend?"

I shrug because I'm not sure what response would be best here. Tim seems to take his cue from me and lifts one shoulder before letting it fall back down again. A glazed expression crosses over my brother's face.

"Everything makes so much sense now," he mumbles to himself, seeming to forget we're even here. That doesn't last for long, however.

Jackson tosses his controller onto the couch, then stands, walking the few feet to loom over top of us.

"You," he says, and shoves his finger in Tim's face, "this is a horrible idea. And you," this time he jabs so forcefully I'm afraid he may take out my eye. "How could you be so fucking cruel. Where do you get off fucking with him like this? Literally."

His response shocks me, and I jerk back from his radiating fury. It's way out of proportion. He's shaking in anger, his eyes boring into me with a cold hard stare. I don't think I've ever seen him look at me like that before. Something rattles in my chest to see his hatred inexplicably turned in my direction.

I'm still floundering in my chair, my jaw opening and closing when Tim climbs to his feet, shoving my brother out of his face.

"Back off, Jackson. This was my choice, my decision. I pursued her. Don't take your anger out on Lucy, man. If you're mad at us, take it out on me."

Jackson and Tim square off, and it's as if I've blended into the furniture. The shots are flying back and forth so quickly I feel like I'm watching a ping pong match.

"Just stop. Stop taking the blame for this. Of course, it's her fault. This has Lucy written all over it."

I'm a little offended by that. Truth be told, I had very little to do with our current situation.

"It's not a big deal, Jackson. We're hanging out. You know that. I told you weeks ago that I've been spending time with Lucy."

Did he? That's news to me.

"Oh, no. Hanging out does not include the eye-fucking that was just going on here. She was petting you like some sort of lap dog, man."

Tim stands his ground, pulling his shoulders back and straightening his spine. I've never noticed before how much bigger he is than Jackson. It's hot. Jackson is what my girlfriends called an alpha gay, kinda like Ian from Shameless. I like knowing my boyfriend can handle him.

"I don't know why you're making such a big thing about it."

Boyfriend? I guess he is my boyfriend. I'll be damned.

"You don't," Jackson sputters like he swallowed something foul, "you don't know why I'm making such a big deal out of this? Maybe because you've been in love with her since before your balls dropped, Tim. She damn well knows it too. If she doesn't, well, that's just another reason this is a bad idea. You don't need to be with someone so stupid. She's going to break your heart, and then I'm going to lose you both."

The air around me is thick and fuzzy, and I'm pretty sure I just blacked out there for a minute. Did Jackson just say Tim is in love with me? I can taste my heart on my tongue. I've never had an out of body experience before, but I'm almost positive this is it.

Tim scrubs both of his hands roughly over his head and turns his back to my brother before flipping right back around. Determination coats him like a second skin.

"You're damn right I'm in love with her. Have you met your sister? She's a fucking perfect mess, and I love it. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you scare me off. Besides Jackson, you should know by now that you and I are forever. If I were going to run when things got weird, I'd have done it the day you told me I had a nice ass."

"You do," says Jackson, so forlornly that I have to cover my mouth to keep my giggle contained. I think I was just insulted and, at the same time, given the highest compliment there is, and Jackson is pouting over Tim's butt. How did my life get so weird?

"I don't care if she breaks my heart, man. I honestly don't. We may break up tonight, thanks for that by the way, or die together in our sleep a hundred years from now. But I'm in it until she tells me otherwise."

They're both heaving, and while Jackson may have forgotten I was here, Tim sure as hell didn't. His gaze flicks to me, then away, and back again, as if he's afraid of what he'll find. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do.

I flashback over the last couple of weeks, to the morning spent lounging around his apartment, to the afternoons he chased me around the park. I think of all the comfortable evenings we've spent with Jackson and Sterling playing games, then sneaking off to bed together afterward.

If I'm not in love, I'm awfully close.

Finally, his eyes settle on mine, and he pulls me to him like a particular sort of gravity. Whenever he's close by, I seem to need to touch him. Maybe that's a sign of love?

"I can promise you one thing," I murmur as I slat myself between Tim and my brother, "I'm not going anywhere tonight."

When he drops his lips to meet mine, contentment washes over me in a way I've never felt before. His touch is firm, yet gentle, and I can't help but sigh into his mouth.

"Oh, God," moans Jackson, and it pulls our attention to him. Tim keeps me tucked close though, his arm snug against my waist.

"Please, please make it stop."

I can't help but laugh at the disgusted expression on his face.

"You know Jackson; maybe I'm into good guys after all."

I listen to Jackson make gagging noises as Tim brings my face back to his.

The End

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